What a Time to Be Alive

What a Time to Be Alive was allegedly born out of an impromptu, six-day recording session between Drake and Future, and the mixed results won't surprise anyone who has already noted the decided lack of chemistry between the two. There's been a Drake feature on every Future album, but none of them are particularly riveting, and on What a Time it's clearer than ever that they have difficulty sharing the same space.

Superstar team-ups almost always seem better in theory. History suggests they are nearly twice as likely to produce a resounding dud as a working piece of art, and yet the prospect never ceases to excite us. When rumors began to swirl weeks ago that Drake and Future might be releasing a joint project, the Internet went into a frenzy. Watch the Throneparallels were drawn, fake cover art circulated, and a website countdown appeared as if to wish it into existence.

What a Time to Be Alive materialized on Sunday*,* and the mixed results won't surprise anyone who has already noted the decided lack of chemistry between these two. There's been a Drake feature on every Future album, but none of them are particularly riveting, and on What a Time it's clearer than ever that they have difficulty sharing the same space. Many tracks are just Future songs with Drake verses tagged on (Future gets almost double the airtime), and Drake often sounds out of his element. When Future gets rolling on songs like "Digital Dash" and "Live From the Gutter", Drake is a bystander. The tape was allegedly born out of an impromptu, six-day recording session, and too many moments on it feel like they were thrown together in that time span. Drake probably shouldn’t be on a song called "I’m the Plug", for example, and the hook on "Big Rings" is terribly bland and awkward. This wasn't created with the care or the dutiful curation we've come to expect from both artists when solo.

But that spontaneity is kind of the point of What a Time to Be Alive. Unlike Watch the Throne, which was presented as a grand statement album from self-coronated heads of rap royalty, What a Time is a tag-on release, a one-off that intentionally exists in the shadows of its 2015 predecessors as a bonus disc. Designating it a tape seemingly alleviates the pressure to curate. Meanwhile, Drake’s cushy Apple deal allows him to disseminate it for retail via iTunes and premiere it exclusively on his OVO Sound show on Apple Music’s Beats 1 Radio. It’s a low risk, high reward proposition.

Both artists offer slightly watered-down versions of themselves: Drake offers snarky responses to his recent ghostwriting allegations ("I might take Quentin to Follies," "The pen is working if you niggas need some ghostlines," etc.) and Future mentions internal struggles ("When you say you love a nigga do you really mean it?/ When I was sleepin' on the floor you shoulda seen how they treat me/ I pour the Actavis and pop pills so I can fight the demons," "I watched my broad give up on me like I'm average"). It’s an odd juxtaposition, especially with Drake returning to the stiff, pinched "yes, I wrote these, can’t you tell?" style of his circa-2010 hashtag rap bars, with some truly dire results ("You remind me of a quarterback/ That shit is all in the past", from "Digital Dash", needed a vigorous "no" from someone in the room).

Even with Drake’s lazy punchlines, though, both he and Future are still great rap artists in their primes, and sometimes they figure things out just based on sheer talent. What the tape lacks in congruence, it makes up for in glimmering Metro Boomin production, and Drake throws Future the perfect alley-oop on "Scholarship" over his muffled synths. "Jumpman" is a certifiable banger. "Diamonds Dancing" is the first great Drake-Future collab that clicks on all cylinders. Of course, the brightest moments for both rappers come at the end of WATTBA when they are each allowed to work on their own and make music in their respective comfort zones—first Future on "Jersey", then Drake on the 40-produced "30 for 30 Freestyle", which showcases some of his best rapping in recent memory. It’s a disjointed but fitting end for a working relationship that’s still a work in progress.